CHAPTER 14
Just as Ryder had feared, Casey’s car was found at the location she’d written on the notepad. What broke his heart was learning they’d also found her shoes. For once, she must have heeded his warning and kicked off her shoes before trying to run.
Unfortunately, it had done her no good. There wasn’t a clue as to where she’d been taken.
Now, just like before when she’d gone to Chicago, Ryder sat by the phone, again waiting for word. Only this time, the phone had been tapped, and when they heard—if they heard—he knew the request wouldn’t be for a ride home. If Ryder’s fears were correct, it would be for money in return for his wife.
Eudora had been given a sedative and was in her room asleep.
Erica was curled in a chair in the corner with her head on her knees, trying to come to terms with the fact that a member of their family was a possible kidnap victim and trying not to let herself think that if Casey didn’t ever come home, everything that had been Delaney Ruban’s would then belong to her and Miles. It shamed her to realize that she’d already envisioned what she would wear to her sister’s funeral. She didn’t want Casey to be dead. Not really. Right now, she would be perfectly satisfied if Casey were back and being the constant source of discord in their lives.
Before Mason Gant had become a detective on the police force in Ruban Crossing, he had been a star running back on his college football team. He’d planned on a career in the NFL, not one behind a badge. But a single tackle had changed his plans and the rest of his life. Before he knew it, fifteen years had come and gone and he was now Detective Gant, and carried a notebook and pen, not a pigskin.
Because of the identity of the missing person, he knew that this could very well be one of the most important investigations of his career and was not giving an inch as to protocol. He’d interviewed all of the hired help and the immediate family, except one. Miles Dunn had been the last to come home and the last to be apprised of his sister’s situation. And as Miles slumped in a chair, it was Gant’s opinion that Dunn wasn’t nearly as bereaved as he would have liked.
“And where were you?” Gant asked, pinning Miles in place with a casual stare.
Miles raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Why on earth should it matter where I was at? My sister is missing. Why aren’t you out trying to find her?” Taking heart in the fact that several of Ruban Crossing’s finest were present, he glanced at Ryder, confident that he could say what was on his mind without coming to harm. “Better yet, why aren’t you questioning her husband? We don’t really know a thing about him.”
“Oh, but we do, and his story checks out clean. Besides, he has nothing to gain from her demise. On the other hand, you and your sister have several hundred millions dollars at stake. Am I right?”
Erica stood up with a gasp of indignation as Miles shifted nervously in his seat. “Of course not. Casey inherited.”
The detective persisted. “But what happens if she dies?”
Miles shrugged. “I wouldn’t really know.”
As the family lawyer, Lash was in attendance. At this point he interrupted, but seemed hesitant to do so. “That’s not exactly true, Miles. You did come to my office this morning and ask what would happen if Casey defaulted on the terms of Delaney’s will.”
Ryder came to his feet, and if there hadn’t been a desk and a chair between them, he would have put his fist in Miles’s face.
Miles spun, his face livid with anger. “You’re twisting everything. You knew I was asking because we all thought Ryder had flown the coop.”
Lash looked repentant. “I’m sorry, Miles, but I felt obligated to tell the truth. If anyone needs me, you know where I can be reached.” He picked up his briefcase and made a quick exit.
Ryder was shaking with anger. “You son of a bitch. Do you remember what I told you? If Casey hurts—you bleed.”
The low, even tone in Ryder’s voice frightened Miles far more than any shout of rage could have done. He scrambled to his feet and backed toward the door, looking frantically toward the police for protection.
“Sit down!” Gant said, and then glanced at Ryder. “While I can understand your indignation, this isn’t getting us anywhere. A woman is missing and all you people seem able to do is fight among yourselves.”
Ryder hunched his shoulders and stalked to the windows overlooking the courtyard, looking up at the small apartment over the garage. Precious minutes passed as pain twisted within him, drawing and pulling like a dull knife. The night before last, he’d slept in Casey’s arms. They’d made love with an abandon that had surprised even him. And less than thirty-six hours later, someone had lied to Casey and stolen from Ryder the thing he cared for most—his wife.
And then suddenly the phone rang, and everyone jumped as if they’d been shot.
“You answer it,” Gant directed, pointing at Ryder.
Ryder said a prayer and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“This is a recording. I will not repeat myself, so pay attention. Casey Justice is with me. At the moment, she is alive. If you choose to ignore my conditions, she will not stay that way long. For her release, I want three million dollars in small, unmarked bills, none of them larger in denomination than a fifty, none of them smaller than a five. I will call you at five o’clock, day after tomorrow, and tell you where and when to make the drop.”
The line went dead, with the computerized sound of an altered voice still grinding in his ear. “Did you get that?” Ryder asked.
Gant nodded. “All we can do now is wait.”
Ryder slammed the phone down. “Like hell. That’s three days. In three days, anything could happen to Casey. Don’t you have any leads? Didn’t anything turn up when forensics went over her car?”
Gant was a man who believed in telling it like it was. “Forensics is still going over her car, and you know as well as I do that we don’t have any other leads. However, we will actively be pursuing the investigation.”
Ryder covered his face with his hands and turned away. He felt sick to his stomach and couldn’t quit shaking. He kept thinking about Casey. Of how afraid she must be. “Dear Lord. Why is this happening?”
Gant briefly touched Ryder’s arm. “Because someone got greedy, Mr. Justice. Now I suggest you try to get some rest.
The next forty-eight hours will be crucial. The FBI should be here by morning.” He grinned wryly. ”You’ll probably have to repeat everything you’ve told me to them. They’re kind of partial to taking their own statements.” His smile faded. ”I think you should be prepared for the possibility that the kidnappers are going to want you, or another member of the family, to make the drop.”
“I’ll do whatever they ask, but I’m not very good at waiting.” He exhaled slowly, as if the action pained him. “There will be time to rest after Casey gets home.”
Gant looked away. He was too aware that the odds of that happening weren’t all that good.
“If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the apartment,” Ryder said, and started down the hall when Erica caught up with him.
“Ryder.”
He stopped and turned.
Looking him straight in the face was the hardest thing she’d ever done. From start to finish, she was ashamed of the way she’d behaved, but she didn’t know how to say it without admitting she’d been in the wrong.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“If you don’t want to be by yourself, I know Casey would want you to stay here in the main house. You could have her room.”
“I don’t think so, but thanks.” He turned away.
“Ryder, wait, please!”
He took a deep breath and turned around again. “Yeah?” “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond.
“I have never regretted anything as much as I have regretted the stunt I pulled with you. All I can say is, I have envied Casey her place in this family all of her life, and it’s not even her fault. She was born a Ruban. Our mother became one by marriage. Miles and I have been on the outside looking in ever since the day Mother said, ‘I do.”’ Her chin quivered as she continued. “However, not even in my ugliest moment have I ever wished Casey to come to harm. I ask your forgiveness, and when Casey comes home, I will ask hers, too.”
Ryder knew truth when he heard it, and in his opinion, it was probably the first time in her life that Erica Dunn had been completely honest, with herself, and with someone else. And because she was Casey’s sister, he held out his hand.
“Truce.”
She smiled. “Truce.” And she accepted the offer of friendship.
“Sure I can’t change your mind?”
He shook his head and then hurried out the door. Erica watched as he ran up the stairs to the apartment, and although she couldn’t hear it, imagined the thud as he slammed the door shut behind him.
Ryder grabbed the phone as soon as he came in the door, then sat down with it in his lap. Within seconds, he was punching in numbers, then waiting as it began to ring. Four rings later, the answering machine kicked on.
He closed his eyes as he listened to the message. It had been so long—too long since he’d heard the sound of his brother’s voice.
“This is Justice Air and The Justice Way. State your name, your business, and if you want a call back, leave your number. Wait for the beep.”
It didn’t register to be surprised that Roman was now in charge of his business as well. Casey was foremost on his mind.
“Roman, it’s Ryder. For once, pick up the damned phone.”
A distinct click sounded in Ryder’s ear, and he closed his eyes with relief.
“It’s about damned time,” Roman growled.
“Give me grief later,” Ryder said. “Right now, I need you, brother, as I have never needed you before.”
Roman sat up. Ryder was thirty-three years old and to Roman’s knowledge, he had never asked a soul for help before in his life. “What’s wrong?”
“My wife has been kidnapped. I want her back, Roman.” His voice broke. “Dammit, I need her back. If anything happens to her, I won’t—”
“Where are you?”
“Ruban Crossing, Mississippi.”
“Hell, I knew that,” Roman muttered. “I mean physical directions to your home.”
Startled, it took Ryder a moment to reconnect his thoughts. Then he sighed. He should have known. After all, his brother was a private investigator.
“Got a pen and paper?” he asked.
“Does a bear—”
Ryder laughed aloud, drowning out the rest of Roman’s remark. It made him feel good, almost normal, to hear Roman’s ever present sarcasm. Some things never change.
He gave Roman directions to the Ruban estate, and when he hung up, for the first time since this nightmare had started to unfold, he knew a small sense of relief.
* * *
In a small, unused room in a forgotten part of Delaney Ruban’s house, candles were burning, on pedestals, in cups, on plates, even on the floor. Candlelight flickered upon the walls and on the bare, lithe body of Matilda Bass, giving the cafe au lait color of her skin a rich, golden glow.
Her hair was undone and hanging well below her waist and she moved as one in a trance, methodically unrolling a cloth she’d brought into the room. A handful of small, white bones fell out of the folds, arranging themselves in a crude sort of circle as they rolled to a stop.
She leaned forward, her bare breasts shifting, and she was barely aware of the thick, silken length of her hair against the skin on her back, blind to the candlelight surrounding her as she sat.
At her side lay a knife, the shaft, old and yellowed. The blade was long and thin, the kind that pierces and kills and leaves nothing behind but a tiny, red mark. The carvings on the handle were old and held a power all of their own.
When Joshua entered, Tilly sensed the air in the room stirring, and somewhere within her mind, she sifted through the change and knew that nothing threatened what she was about to do. Her focus shifted again as she went to her knees before the circle of bones, whispering in a language that she’d learned at her grandmother’s knee.
* * *
Lash downshifted Fostoria Biggers’s small white compact and turned into the overgrown driveway leading up to her house. It was nearly dark, and he knew that coming out here was risky, but he wanted to see for himself that the mighty Casey Ruban had been brought to her knees. Using Fostoria’s car was just another way of blurring his trail.
The house was small and nearing total dilapidation. In fact, if possible, it was in worse condition than his beloved Graystone. Fostoria’s porch had sagged some years ago, and was nearly rotted through from the wetlands upon which it had been built. Paint had peeled off all the siding except in a few sheltered places, and the curtains that hung at the windows were faded and limp. The grass in the yard was ankle high and Lash winced as he thought of walking through it. There was no telling what kind of reptiles were lying in wait.
He made it through the yard and onto the porch. Sidestepping the worst of the sag in the planks, he walked into the house as if he owned it. Bernie Pike spun toward the sound, his gun pointed directly at Lash’s chest.
“Dammit, Marlow, you scared the hell out of me.”
Lash frowned. “Point that thing somewhere else.”
Bernie did as he was told.
“Where is she?” Lash asked.
Bernie pointed toward the first door on the right down the hall. “I put her in there. It was the only room that had a bed.”
Lash nodded.
“When’s Skeet comin’ to relieve me?”
Lash frowned. “I told you two to guard her. I didn’t think I would have to set up a work schedule for you as well. Call him and find out for yourself.”
Bernie shivered and glanced nervously out the open door. “I’m ready to get my money and get the hell out of this swamp. There’s snakes and lizards and all matter of critters out here. When is it all goin’ down?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Bernie frowned and then cursed. “What’s the holdup? I thought them people had plenty of money.”
Lash glanced down the hall at the closed door and then grinned. “Oh, they do, but I intend to delay the inevitable as long as possible. Why put her out of her misery—until she knows what real misery is like?”
There was an expression on Lash Marlow’s face that made Bernie Pike shudder. He shifted his gun to his other hand, thankful that he was working for this man, not running from him.
“So, what do you want me to do?” Bernie asked.
Lash took a deep breath, his pulse quickening as he glanced at the closed door. “Get out. Get out and don’t come back inside until I tell you to.”
Bernie looked startled and then a slow grin spread across his face as he did what he was told.
When the house was quiet, and Lash could hear nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, he gave his rabbit’s foot a last quick rub, and started down the hall.
* * *
Casey’s hands were numb and her throat was dry. She needed a drink in the very worst way, but calling attention to herself was the last thing she wanted to do. As long as her abductor thought she was asleep, he pretty much left her alone.
Something was crawling on the floor beside the bed and she prayed it stayed there. But the scritch-scratch of toenails on hardwood flooring was impossible to ignore. She kept telling herself that as long as she couldn’t see what was making the noise, then she couldn’t be afraid.
And then the air shifted, and another sound blended with those in her head and she tensed. That was the door! Someone was inside the room. Casey had learned a trick from Delaney early on in her life to take control of a situation by being the first to speak. She saw no reason to change her strategy now.
“I would like a drink of water.”
A low, ugly chuckle centered itself within the waiting silence and Casey gasped. That didn’t sound like her abductor. Someone else had entered the picture.
“Casey, Casey, ever the prima donna, aren’t you? Tied up like a sow going to market and still giving orders. Now what do you suppose it would take to bring you to your knees?”
“Lash?”
The blindfold was yanked from her face.
Casey blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision as her eyes adjusted to the change in light. Lash leaned down and pinched the sides of her cheeks with his thumbs and fingers, squeezing and squeezing until speech was impossible and tears sprang to her eyes.
“That’s it. Cry for me, honey. Show me you care.”
Casey jerked, trying to free herself from his grasp, and then to her surprise, he turned her loose and shoved her, sending her sprawling. Before she could think, he had untied her ankles and straddled her legs.
Panic shafted through Casey’s mind. Lash’s intentions were all too plain. And when he leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands against the swell of her breasts, she groaned and wrestled with the ties still binding her wrists. They wouldn’t give.
“Lash, for God’s sake, don’t.”
His slap ricocheted off the side of her jaw. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’m the one in control. I’m the one who calls the plays, princess, and right now, I’m going to take a little of what was rightfully mine.”
His fingers curled in the top of her blouse, and when he yanked, buttons flew, hitting the wall and scattering across the floor. Something scurried out from under the bed and Casey knew that one good thing had come from Lash’s arrival. At least that creature was gone. If she only knew how to get rid of this one for good, she would never ask for anything again.
He laughed, and then grabbed at the hem of her skirt as adrenaline surged through him. This was power. He wished he’d thought of it sooner. At last he felt like a man.
Casey kicked and bit and screamed until her throat was hoarse. It served no purpose other than to arouse him more. His hands were at the juncture of her legs when the room began to grow dark before her eyes. A fresh sheen of perspiration broke out on Casey’s skin as the sensation of fainting became imminent. Horrified at what he would do if she was unconscious and helpless, Casey thought of a prayer that didn’t make it aloud. The darkness in the room was growing, and it was beginning to pull her in.
Her submission was so unexpected that Lash also paused, wondering what trick she was trying to pull. But she was far too limp and far too still for a joke. Frustrated that she would not be awake to suffer his touch, he thrust a knee between her legs, readying to shove himself in as well. And then Casey began to speak.
Surprised, he looked down. Her, eyes were still closed. She was still limp—almost lifeless. And he would have sworn the voice that he heard was not her own.
Her breathing had slowed, and at first glance, she seemed to be asleep. But the words pouring out of her mouth were fluent in cadence, foreign in sound and speech, universal in intent. One brief, staccato sentence after another, she was invoking a curse of such magnitude upon Lash Marlow’s head that he couldn’t do anything but stare. Word after word, the curse continued, pouring upon every living person hereafter who might carry an ounce of his blood in their veins. Spoken in the old patois of French-speaking slaves, the threat became even more insidious as the promises continued.
Lash jerked his hand back from her legs as if he’d been burned. Pale and sickening, a cold sweat suddenly beaded upon his face. Lash was a true son of the south. He’d been born and bred in the ways of the past. He, too, spoke French like a native, and although he was a well-read, highly educated man, there was that part of him that had grown up believing in curses and superstitions and extremely bad luck.
“Shut up! Shut up!” His scream rent the air as he drew back and slapped her in the face.
It was after Casey tasted her own blood that she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Horror crawled up the back of Lash’s spine. The woman looking out at him from Casey’s face wasn’t the green-eyed woman he’d known and coveted. This woman’s eyes were back, and she was staring at him from hell.
He grabbed at his clothes, scrambling to get off of her legs and away from her body like a man gone crazy. When he was on the other side of the room, he pointed a finger toward where she lay and told himself it didn’t matter. Words were just words. She couldn’t stop the success of what he’d set in place. But everywhere he moved, her eyes followed him, staring—blaming—reminding him of what she’d just said.
“Say what you will, you stupid bitch,” he growled. Then he laughed. But it was a nervous, jerky sort of bark. “Day after tomorrow it will all be over. I’ll be rich, and you’ll be dead.”
And then he was gone, and while she lay on the bed, she came to an acceptance she didn’t understand. Even though she was locked in this room and helpless in the face of her abductors, for a while, she had not been alone. Instead of being afraid, she took comfort in the knowledge. All she could remember was feeling sick and then falling into a deep, black hole. What had transpired after that, she could only guess, but she knew she had not been raped. And in the face of all that, it still wasn’t the biggest horror of all.
Lash Marlow had purposefully let her see his face. She closed her eyes. She would never see Ryder again.
* * *
It was 3:00 a.m. when the knock sounded on Ryder’s front door. Half in and half out of a weary doze, he staggered to his feet and made his way through the darkened rooms, turning on lights as he went. He grabbed the doorknob and jerked.
Roman walked inside, tossed a suitcase on the sofa and kicked the door shut behind him. Brother to brother, the two men looked at each other, judging the changes in each that the last few months had made. Finally, it was Roman who broke the silence.
“You look like hell.”
Ryder walked into his brother’s outstretched arms. Their embrace was brief, but it served its purpose. It was proof to Ryder that the connection he’d tried to sever with his family was still as strong as it had ever been.
“You got here fast,” he said.
Roman glanced around the room. “I figured I’d better.”
Ryder hadn’t expected to be so overwhelmed by the sight of his brother’s face. It was all he could do to speak without breaking down. “Help me, Roman. Help me find her and get her back.”
Roman’s grasp was strong on Ryder’s arm. “That’s why I came, brother. That’s why I came.”
Like the sleuth that he was, Roman began to move about the room, picking up things and laying them down again, feeling, judging, absorbing the world in which his brother had been living. A photograph sat on a nearby table. Roman picked it up.
“Is this her?”
Ryder nodded. It had been taken the night of Libertine Delacroix’s party. It hurt to look at it and remember how happy they’d been. “Yeah, minus the ears and tail,” Ryder said.
One of Roman’s rare grins slid into place. “Leave it up to you to run away from home and come out smelling like a rose.”
* * *
“Well, I do declare!”
Eudora’s ladylike gasp that accompanied her remark was in reaction to seeing the Justice brothers coming through the front door of the main house.
From the cold, handsome faces to the dark straight hair and those square, stubborn chins, they were alike as two peas in a pod. Their blue jeans were pressed and starched and their long-sleeved white shirts were a perfect contrast to the tan of their skin. The tilt of their Stetsons rode at the same cocky slant, and their steps synchronized as they stepped off space on the pale, marble floor.
“Dora, this is my brother, Roman Justice. Roman—Casey’s grandmother, Eudora Deathridge.”
Roman’s expression never changed as he tilted his hat. “Ma’am.”
A shiver moved through her as she looked into Roman’s eyes. They were dark, and the expression seemed hard and flat. And she knew if he hadn’t looked so much like Ryder, she would have been afraid of this man.
Ryder touched her arm. “We’re going to use the library for a while, okay?”
“Why, yes, dear. Whatever you need,” she said, and then made as graceful an exit as she could manage.
“There it is,” Ryder said, pointing to the computer system in the far corner of the room.
Roman headed for it with unerring intent. Within moments, he was into the system and had it on-line.
“How did you do that?” Ryder asked. “I can never make those things do what I want them to do.”
Roman looked up. “You just don’t use the right kind of persuasion,” he replied, then moved his eyes back to the screen.
Ryder found himself a chair and sat down. This morning, Roman had asked him for a list of names of people with whom Casey most closely associated. The question had surprised him. All this time he’d been thinking in terms of faceless strangers, not a betrayal from family or friend.
He’d asked why and was still shaken by his brother’s cold answer. “Because trust will betray you every time.”
It hurt him to know the depth of Roman’s bitterness toward the human race. But his own life was in such a mess, he couldn’t argue the point. All he could do was trust the fact that Roman had been in this business long enough to know what he was doing.
* * *
“Well, now, this is interesting.”
Ryder came out of his chair like a shot. They were the first words that Roman had spoken since he’d sat down at the computer over an hour ago.
“What?” Ryder asked.
Roman leaned back in his chair. “Besides being the family lawyer, what is Lash Marlow to Casey?”
Ryder frowned. “Nothing, although I think her grandfather would have wished it otherwise. Remember what I told you about the will, and how we met?”
Roman nodded.
“Casey once mentioned that when Lash Marlow read that clause in the will, he was almost gloating. You know, like an I’ve-got-you-now look.”
Roman stared at the screen. “He’s broke.”
Startled, Ryder moved to look over Roman’s shoulder. “You must be mistaken. His family is old money. That’s what everyone says.”
“He has been served with a foreclosure notice, and up until two weeks ago, his accounts were all overdrawn.”
Ryder frowned. “How the hell did you get that computer to do that?”
“That’s privileged info, brother.”
“Did you hack into the bank’s computers?”
Roman spun his chair around as one of his rare smiles slowly broke across his face. “Now, Ryder, why would I do a thing like that? It’s illegal.”
Ryder started to pace. “Okay, so Lash Marlow is hard up for money. I’d venture to say at least half the people in Ruban Crossing could say the same.”
He paused to look out the window overlooking the grounds. His gaze fell on the gardener’s shed. Despair surfaced as he thought of holding Casey in his arms, and what they’d done that night in the name of love. It was all he could do to focus on what had to be done.
“Look Roman, there’s no guarantee that whoever has Casey is even a local. In the business world, the Ruban name is known worldwide. Their holdings are vast. Casey’s inheritance has recently been in all the papers…twice. Once when Delaney died. Again when that plane she was supposed to be on crashed and burned with all aboard.”
Roman listened without comment, but when he turned back to the computer, his gaze was fixed, his thoughts whirling. He kept thinking of what his C.O. used to say just before they’d go out on a mission. Never overlook the obvious. It will get you killed every time. In Roman’s opinion, Lash Marlow had an obvious axe to grind. What remained to be seen was if he was the kind of man who could betray a client… or a friend.
* * *
The family was gathering in the main salon, and while they whispered among themselves as to the possible reason Detective Gant might have for calling them all together again, Ryder’s thoughts were on something else. A few moments ago, he’d glanced up at the clock. Forty-eight hours ago to the minute, he’d walked into Casey’s office a happy man. Within the space of time it took to spill papers from a desk, his world had come to an end. All last night he’d kept hearing the sound of her voice as she’d begged him to come back inside her office. If only he had.
A few moments later, the doorbell chimed and they heard Joshua directing Mason Gant into the room.
“Thanks for being so prompt,” Gant said, waving away Joshua’s offer of coffee. He glanced around the room. “I have some news,” he announced, and when Ryder took a step forward, he held up his hand. “Sorry, I phrased that wrong. It is news, but not of Casey.”
The doorbell pealed again and Joshua hurried from the room. Moments later, Lash Marlow followed him back.
“Sorry I’m late,” Lash said, smoothing his hand over his windblown hair. “Had to be in court first thing this morning.”
Gant nodded. “I just got here myself.” He looked around. “Is everyone here?”
“Everyone but Bea. Today’s her day off,” Tilly said.
Gant pulled out his notebook. “I have her address. I’ll catch up with her later.”
“Detective Gant, before you start, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Gant looked up, surprised by Ryder’s remark. He thought he’d met everyone when he was here before. Suddenly a man walked into his line of vision and he realized that the fellow had been standing in plain sight all along, but had been so quiet and so still that he’d completely overlooked his presence.
His first impression was that the man was military. His second was special forces. And then he focused on his face and Gant knew before he spoke that this man was Ryder’s brother… if not his twin.
“I’d wager your last name is Justice,” Gant said.
Roman held out his hand. “Roman Justice, private investigator out of Dallas. I won’t get in your way if you don’t get in mine.”
Gant grinned as they shook hands. He liked a man who said what he thought.
A coffee cup shattered, breaking the brief silence as everyone turned toward the sound. Lash was against the wall. He was pale and shaking and staring down at the floor.
“It slipped out of my hands.”
Joshua ran to get a broom as Tilly fussed with the splatters that dappled the edge of a soft, moss-green rug.
Ryder stared at Lash, as if seeing him for the very first time. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that anyone who knew Casey would want to cause her harm. And Marlow was, as usual, every inch the gentleman—from the cut of his clothes to the style of his hair. But why was Lash so upset over a spilled cup of coffee? Ryder kept staring and staring, remembering his brother’s words and trying to see past the obvious to the man beneath. Suddenly, something about Lash’s appearance struck a sour note.
“Hey, Marlow.”
At the sound of Ryder’s voice, Lash jerked as if he’d been slapped. He looked up. “Yes?”
“What the hell happened to your hand?”
He didn’t have to look down to know they were referring to the row of skinned knuckles on his right hand and the long red gash that ran from one edge of his wrist to the other. Gorge rose in his throat as he struggled with an answer they all might believe. He could hardly tell them it was the remnants of his bout with Casey.
He managed a laugh. “I locked myself out of the house last night. Graystone may be past her prime, but like the lady she is, she does not easily part with her virtue. I broke a window trying to get inside. Lucky for me I didn’t cut my own wrist, right?”
The answer was plausible enough. Ryder shrugged. If the man had cut his own throat, he couldn’t have cared less. If there was news that pertained to Casey, he wanted to know now.
“Look, Gant, let’s get down to business. Why did you call us all together?”
Lash was counting his blessings that the subject of his wounds had been changed. But his relief was short-lived when Gant started to talk.
“Forensics came up with a print on Casey’s car that doesn’t match anyone else in the family.”
Ryder stiffened. Was this their first break? “Do you have an ID?”
Gant nodded. “Belongs to a low-life hood out of Natchez named Bernie Pike.”
Lash felt his legs going out from under him and slid into a chair before he made another social faux pas. By the time everyone present had assured the detective they knew nothing about the name, he had himself under control.
Although Gant’s meeting with the family had been necessary, he hadn’t really expected anything to come from this lead. At least, not from this quarter. He was gathering his things and readying to leave when he suddenly remembered another fact he needed to verify.
Lash Marlow was on his way out the door when Gant called him back.
“Marlow! Wait!”
Lash spun, his nerves tightening with every breath that he took. “Yes?”
“About the ransom. Will you be able to get it all together by tomorrow?”
He went weak with relief. “Yes, sir. The bank has been most helpful in this case. Some of it arrived today by armored car. The rest should be here before noon tomorrow.”
Gant nodded. “Good. I don’t want any last minutes hitches. When that call comes in, I want to be ready to roll.”
Lash stifled a smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”